The Wrong Man (12 page)

“Okay, what do I need to mention in the update?” Time to focus on work. On the top sheet of the legal pad on her desk, she wrote “JBC meeting” on the first line. She wrote a few words about the magazine ads, the color schemes, and the feedback she’d received from the Johnsons, every now and again tapping the pen against her mouth.

A few minutes later, the telephone on her desk rang, disturbing her concentration.

“Hello?”

“I couldn’t wait.” It was Tomas.

She held her breath and almost melted into the chair. “How’d you get my direct line?”

“Lillian was helpful earlier. Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I heard you, but what do you mean you couldn’t wait?”

“I want you now.”

She couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t. “I told you, I can’t. I have to work.”

“Meet me in the stairwell two floors below you.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the temptation to give in. The grip on the pen in her hand tightened. “Tomas, the stairwell is just as inappropriate as my office.”

“When you come, make sure you’re not wearing any panties.”

Her breathing fractured. “I’m not coming,” she insisted, her voice smaller and less convincing.

“You have five minutes, and then I’m leaving.”

“I have a meeting in ten minutes,” she said.

“Don’t be late.” He wasn’t even listening to her. Or he chose to ignore every word she said.

“If you think—” The line went dead.

Talia slammed down the phone. He was going to feel very foolish waiting down there when she didn’t show up.

“Okay, where was I?” She twirled the pen in the corner of her mouth.

The second hand of the clock on her desk moved. A minute had passed.

She shifted in her seat and gnawed on the pen cap, concentration focused on the sheet in front of her. An idea came to her for the JBC campaign and she scribbled it down.

From the corner of her eye, she saw another minute pass.

She crossed one leg over the other and bounced her foot.

Another minute.

Exasperated, Talia turned the clock face away from her. She didn’t need to see every single minute go by. The movement distracted her from the important task she had to complete.

Taking a deep breath, she drew a circle around an important point and wrote a few words in the corner, but right after, she dropped the pen on the desk and placed her head in her hands.

This was madness.

Before she changed her mind, she reached under her skirt and wriggled out of her thong. Dropping it into the bottom drawer, she gave herself a scolding for what she considered doing.

Shawna’s words from the day of the picnic came back to haunt her.
He gets women to do all kinds of crazy things. They simply forget who they are.

Pushing away the thought, she twisted the clock around. Five minutes had passed since he called, and he’d given her five to get down there. She sprang from the chair and rushed out the door to the exit at the end of the hallway. Gripping the handrail, she raced down the first flight of stairs, her high heels echoing loudly in the cavernous space. Heart racing, she hurried down the second set. Her ankle twisted and she lost a shoe but kept moving in a graceless hobble, hoping she hadn’t missed him, wishing she hadn’t been so stubborn in the first place when she wanted what he did.

Almost to the bottom step she came to an abrupt halt. He stood off to the right on the landing below, back to the wall, thumbs hooked in the loops of his jeans. One corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes crinkled in the corners. He knew she’d come.

“
Ven acá, pequeña
.”

She tried to gather some semblance of resistance, but her pride took a back seat to desire. She slipped off the other shoe and walked on the cold floor until she stopped right in front of him as he’d instructed.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t even like you,” she said.

His lips twisted into a sexy, panty-wetting smile. “You don’t have to like me to enjoy this.”

He put his hand to the back of her neck and dragged her to him.

Chapter Fourteen

Tomas slid his hand up Talia’s skirt. “
Dios
,” he hissed. She had really removed her panties. His brain ceased to function and his penis started calling the shots.

Dragging the skirt past her hips, he exposed the black lace-edged garter on her silky thighs. In one controlled movement he lifted her from the floor and turned her against the wall.

One of her arms wound around his neck while the other reached between them. His stomach clenched at the scent of rosemary and mint in her hair. Night after night he’d jacked off to the same smell, tortured until he’d had to change the sheets.

She was the most frustrating woman he had ever met, and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He had no problem admitting the attraction between them, but even though she wanted him just as much, she chose to fight the fire between them.

He’d see about that.

His lips found her neck, and he applied his teeth and tongue to her skin, growing more excited with each breathless moan she made. She stroked him, and he lengthened and hardened with body-aching quickness until his jeans stretched uncomfortably over his groin.

“Take it out,” he said in a tight voice.

She fumbled with the zipper as he sucked on her neck. He sucked hard, wanting to leave a mark the way she’d left marks on his back. He wanted her ex-husband to see. Wanted him to know if he entertained the notion they could get back together, he didn’t stand a chance, though he had the privilege of seeing her every day at work. She belonged to him now.

He’d had a taste and now couldn’t get enough. He wanted her all to himself. To think Ryan had warned him away. Ha. Someone should have warned him about her.

He pushed into her with a low growl, and his knees almost gave way. Wet and hot, she had him all confused and feeling helpless. With no will, no power, and solely at her mercy. His confidence wavered as the lines blurred and he was no longer certain who belonged to whom.

“Call me
papi
,” he said in her ear.

“
Papi
,” she whispered, sounding almost shy.

“Louder.” He thrust harder, determined she would not walk away so easily this time. Not when this need for her wouldn’t go away. Not when he couldn’t forget, forced to recall their passionate romp every time he took a shower because soap stung the nicks left by her fingernails in his back.

“
Papi
.” Her voice shook, and her legs tightened around his lean hips.

“Louder.” He went at her, thrusting deep, punishing her for depriving him.

“Oh,
papi
,” she gasped. “Oh, yes, so good. Yes,
papi
. Yes!”

Talia fisted her hands in his hair, pulling strands from the confines of the elastic ponytail holder, biting his neck, mouth open wide as she moaned, letting his pounding thrusts push her through to the inevitable climax.

Making love to him was so carnal, so out-of-control decadent. No one should enjoy sex this much. This kind of passion burned everything in its path. It almost felt wrong, this type of demanding. This type of taking. This type of glorious, heavenly fucking.

She locked harder around him and let loose a trembling cry when an orgasm tore through her. He continued to pound into her like a madman, his harsh breath fanning the side of her neck. The rhythm of his hips wrested yet another orgasm from her, and she cried out again, her voice bouncing off the stairwell walls, drowning his heavy grunts as he shuddered through a consuming climax. She only hoped she’d made it half as good for him as he made it for her.

They held each other tight afterward, their ragged breaths coming short and fast. Only when her heartbeat had slowed to an almost normal pace did he lower her to the ground and rest his head on the wall beside hers. With trembling fingers, Talia pulled her skirt back into place.

Tomas cleared his throat and zipped his jeans. “Next time, don’t be late.”

Next time?

“There will be a next time,” he said.

He kissed the side of her mouth and helplessly, she let the tip of her tongue dip out to taste him. He sucked her lower lip and she whimpered.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said before heading down the stairs.

Talia remained in the stairwell and placed a hand over her chest to calm the erratic beat of her heart. She didn’t know how to control this fire between them. It was out of hand. And she already wanted more—was looking forward to the
next time
, as he’d promised.

With a deep sigh she picked up the first abandoned shoe and started the slow climb up the stairs on shaky legs. She couldn’t go to the meeting right away and would have to make a detour to the bathroom to fix her makeup and hair.

By the time she arrived in the boardroom she should have thought of a decent excuse to give Jay for being late.

Chapter Fifteen

The sun had gone down hours earlier, and the only light in the room came from a lamp on the nightstand. Talia stretched lazily in the bed. Another good workout, courtesy of Tomas Molina.

The dusting of hairs on his rock-hard chest tickled when he pressed against her back. Raining tender kisses onto her shoulder, he cupped a breast and pulled on the nipple. It hardened into a tight peak and desire unfurled again in her loins.

“We just had sex,” she said, giggling. He had quite the libido, with such a short recovery time she sometimes doubted he’d lost his erection.

“These breasts drive me crazy,” he complained. He kneaded the soft mound, his calloused palm creating a sensual friction. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed sucking a woman’s breasts as much as I do yours.”

Her lids lowered, savoring the words as moisture pooled between her legs. He always said erotic things like that. Words that complimented the richness of her skin tone, lauded her curves, and flattered features that used to make her feel self-conscious. Used to, because a woman would have to be a fool not to appreciate the uniqueness of her own body when a man showed such constant appreciation of it.

He rolled her onto her back and pulled a hard nipple into his mouth. Prying her legs apart, his hot manhood pressed into her heat. She arched her back, gasping when his muscular thighs widened and spread her legs so he could go deeper. Running her fingers over his sweat-slick back, she caressed the contours and grooves of hard muscle. She absorbed the textures of him, the sinewy strength under her fingertips, the soft silk of his hair.

The pull of his mouth and the slow roll of his hips worked in tandem to bring her to a quick, shuddering climax. Fingernails dug into his shoulders and she let loose a soft cry. Her knees clenched around his naked hips, and he came with a harsh groan of male satisfaction before collapsing beside her.

Talia listened to the steady sound of his breathing, amazed at how her life had changed in such a short time. Since the day in the stairwell, their relationship had progressed quickly, and she’d become accustomed to this endless banquet of pleasure.

They’d started out meeting one or two days out of the work week. Tomas would hang around in town, and she’d call him when she left work. Then they’d meet at her condo for wild, bone-melting sex. But it wasn’t enough, and the number of days increased to include every Saturday, at which time she’d drive the hour to his house in the country, spend the night, and drive back on Sunday.

At first they only cared about scratching the itch for each other that wouldn’t go away, but at some point even a couple of days per week proved insufficient, and their meetings became more than sexual. Eventually she gave him a key so when he left work he could stay at her place until she came home. She knew he was just as lost as she about how to handle the magnetic pull they had on each other.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, sitting up. “I could order some food.”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?” He yawned, big and loud.

“I’m not sure. I’ll decide when I see the menus.”

They dragged out of bed. She threw on a blue silk robe, and he pulled on his jeans. Downstairs in the kitchen, Talia opened the drawer filled with menus, and Tomas started opening the cabinet doors.

What’s he doing?

She watched him in silence. The only items on the shelves were her favorite items to snack on—gourmet cheese straws, creamy white nougat imported from France, chocolate chip cookies from the neighborhood bakery, and figs hand-dipped in dark chocolate and imported from Valencia, Spain.

“Do you have anything we can eat now, while we wait?” he asked.

Most of the time they walked to one of the restaurants near her condo. Years ago the area where she lived used to be crime-infested, but investors had swooped in and bought the properties. After fixing them up, young, affluent 20- and 30-somethings moved in. A testament to the changes, trendy cafes and restaurants sprouted up to accommodate that demographic with expensive coffee mixes and eclectic dining choices.

“What I have to eat is what you see,” she said.

Continuing the search, Tomas opened the refrigerator, which contained nothing but water and juice. The only other items were her smoothie packets of diced fruit—quart-sized bags in the freezer containing bananas, strawberries, or whatever fruits and vegetables she’d picked up at the supermarket, so she’d only have to dump everything into a blender and add juice or water for a quick breakfast.

“Don’t you ever cook?” he asked, closing the refrigerator. “You don’t have anything. Not even eggs to whip up a basic omelet. We’ll have to change that.”

“I have no intention of changing anything,” Talia said, bumping him with her hip. “I told you, growing up we had servants who took care of the day-to-day, so I never had to learn.” She shrugged. “I don’t clean, either. That’s what the cleaning service is for. This isn’t the Dark Ages.”

“There’s nothing wrong with cooking a man a meal.”

“Nothing wrong with not cooking, either. Are your hands broken? Cook for yourself.” Talia set one of the menus on the counter and flipped it open.

“I do cook for myself. It’s cheaper and more convenient.”